


Eat Dessert First

by hesterbyrde



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Cake, Drugs, Kissing, M/M, Mention of injuries, Painkillers, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Spoilers, post-series finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 16:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6086134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesterbyrde/pseuds/hesterbyrde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Gateau au citron with chantilly cream, to be paired with a reduction of strawberries and pomegranate arils.” he replied with something of his old, understated panache. It made Will’s insides ache.</p><p>“I mean… I can see you’re making cake. But why?”</p><p>“Because it is your birthday.” Hannibal replied simply.</p><p>Will blinked a good three or four times. “It is?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat Dessert First

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damnslippyplanet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: How do either the Murder Husbands or Murder Wives celebrate birthdays?
> 
> Wanted to write something cute and fluffy, and ended up getting pulled in an dark/angst direction that somehow wound up being fluffy anyway.
> 
> This was written in about two days, which is bloody light-speed for me. Many thanks to KaminaDuck for pinch hitting as my beta-reader on such short notice.
> 
> Oh... And Happiest of Birthdays to damnslippyplanet who put forth the prompt! Hope you like lemon cake!

Will laid in bed for almost a week after the fall. The first few days were a necessity. He couldn’t even sit up without pain whiting out his vision. And Hannibal had kept the painkillers coming, so he was barely awake enough to do more than use the bathroom and take a few bites of applesauce. 

Hannibal didn’t linger though. He saw to Will’s injuries with a clinical tenderness and very little conversation. It made Will’s insides twist, even through the chemical haze blanketing his mind. He could see all too keenly past the cool caretaker’s mask to the hurt and turmoil that roiled beneath. He knew what had happened. Remembered. And remembered what Will had done in the aftermath...

It had been a split second, sickening decision to carry them both over the cliff. Will had almost just jumped himself, but he couldn’t stop himself from clinging to Hannibal. Even as his insides had seethed with the horror of what they’d done, the long-sought peace that had overtaken him in that moment sang in his blood. He wanted… oh he wanted, and never wanted to let go.

Will had felt well enough to get out of bed three days ago. But guilt kept him curled on his side facing the wall, feigning sleep whenever he heard footsteps on the stairs. Hannibal continued to bring him food, and pain meds if he asked for them. But he did little else besides cursory checks of his injuries.

Finally, Will decided he would have to face Hannibal, and what he’d done to both of them. He wondered what he might find as a reprisal for this affront. This would be the… Hobb’s kitchen, stupid nurse from the hospital, the street in Florence… the fourth time he’d tried to kill Hannibal. Surely there was something special in store for this go round. 

Will eased himself out of bed and didn’t even bother to get dressed in anything other than the t-shirt and boxers he was already wearing. He just drew the comforter tight around him and stumbled downstairs to search the cabin for Hannibal.

At first, he thought he might be alone. The rooms were all dark and quiet, lit only by the weak sunlight that managed to filter down through the overcast sky. Hannibal wasn’t in the sitting room, or out on the porch that overlooked the evergreen forest. But from the doorway of the office, Will heard shuffling coming from the kitchen and slowly made his way towards the sound.

He found Hannibal in a spill of golden light, crouched over the butcher block. He held a large piping bag in his exacting hands, tendons taut with the pressure he was applying. His attention was focused on a three layer cake that he was icing with dozens of tiny rosettes made of white cream, each one finished with a little twist of his wrist. He paused mid-motion when he caught sight of Will.

Silence stretched between them for a moment, like a thicket of thorny vines.

“Will.” Hannibal said, his voice cracking with surprise, though his face betrayed none. “I didn’t expect you to be up and about yet.”

“My injuries haven’t been keeping me in bed.” Will replied a little more sullenly than he meant to. 

“I know.” Hannibal replied softly before going back to work. “I had meant this to be a surprise.”

“What is it?”

“Gateau au citron with chantilly cream, to be paired with a reduction of strawberries and pomegranate arils.” he replied with something of his old, understated panache. It made Will’s insides ache.

“I mean… I can see you’re making cake. But why?”

“Because it is your birthday.” Hannibal replied simply.

Will blinked a good three or four times. “It is?”

“It is.” he parrotted as he resumed the task of piping on the rosettes. 

“I… I can’t remember the last time I had a birthday cake.” Will said, a bewildered laugh coloring his voice.

“Molly didn’t make you cake?”

Will’s face pulled into a grimace at the mention of her name. “She was a good cook, but she couldn’t bake worth a damn. I always had pie for my birthday.”

Another sad silence stretched between them as Hannibal calmly continued to pipe rosettes. Will watched him. Watched the shadows settle into the lines of his face. Watched how the muscles in his wrist flexed with each little finishing twist of the piping bag. Watched him chew his lips more and more with each passing second.

Will laughed again suddenly, rubbing his hand against his scruffy cheek, being careful not to disturb his stitches. “This isn’t usually the way it goes when one of us tries to kill the other.”

“I know.” Hannibal said again, not removing his eyes from where he worked the tip of the piping bag across the cake. “One definition of insanity is repeating the same action and expecting a different outcome. A narrow description to be sure, but applicable to this situation none the less.”

Will snorted. “So instead of killing me, you made me cake?”

“Birthday cake.” Hannibal corrected as he turned the cake plate to continue making rosettes. “I always make this cake for my birthday. I fear the ingredients are sub par to what I could have attained under better circumstances, but I think it shall suffice.”

“You always make your own birthday cake?” Will asked. “That doesn’t seem…”

Hannibal gave an elegant shrug. “There was never anyone to make it for me.”

Another beat of barbed silence.

“I can’t bake.” Will said, the words coming out so fast that they were almost unintelligible. “I mean… I was never any good at it. Failed home-ec in school.”

“I can teach you if you want.” Hannibal offered. “Once some basic skills are apprehended, baking is quite simple.”

Will had stood in the kitchen doorway up until now, like a wary animal at the edge of the firelight. He stayed there for a few more breaths, watching in wonder as one of the most brilliant and deadly people he’d ever met iced his birthday cake. He could feel it again… that easy peace that had washed over his mind at the cliff’s edge. Part of him wanted to retreat. To go back to bed, face the wall, and force the universe to move him.

But instead he drew the comforter tighter around his shoulders and shuffled to one of the barstools. As he eased himself down onto the seat, Hannibal’s eyes flickered up to his face and he might have smiled a little.

When the last rosette was piped, Hannibal set down the piping bag and slid the cake across to Will. “I had planned to save it for after dinner, but seeing as it’s your birthday, I suppose the choice is yours.”

There was a weight to his words that smote upon the door of Will’s already aching heart. He placed his fingers at the edge of the plate, making a show of examining his cake as his thoughts raced. Then abruptly, he stood and let the comforter fall from his shoulders. He walked around the butcher block and practically threw himself against Hannibal, clinging to him as he had at the cliff’s edge. After a stunned moment of stillness, Hannibal wound his arms around Will’s waist, pulling him into an even tighter embrace.

“Careful, Will.” he whispered into his hair, his voice fracturing around his name. “You don’t have a cliff to throw us off of this time.”

Will shook his head, his stubble rasping against the rough wool of Hannibal’s sweater. “I’m sorry.” he mumbled into his shoulder.

Hannibal pulled back a fraction, threading his hands into the curls just behind Will’s ear and cupping his jaw in the hollow of his palm. It was a familiar gesture. Calming and grounding, and Will felt himself leaning back into it out of pure, starved instinct.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Will.” Hannibal told him.

“I was scared.” Will said miserably. “And overwhelmed.”

“I know.” he said, skating the ball of his thumb along Will’s cheekbone. “You had been fighting for so long and you lost.” Hannibal made to pull away but Will caught him, gripping his sleeve and holding him close.

Will stared up at him, wild eyed and sad. “I didn’t lose.” he whispered before he crushed their mouths together.

The pain in Will’s jaw flared as Hannibal gripped his face, but this was only the annoying buzz of a fly in an echoing concert hall. Hannibal’s mouth was hot and wonderfully yielding against his. His tongue tasted faintly of vanilla where he had probably tasted the cream before icing the cake. Will moaned into the kiss, feeling the answering ripple in Hannibal’s body.

“I’m sorry.” Will said when they’d broken apart. The words were mumbled against Hannibal’s lips and swallowed down in another brief kiss. “I’m sorry for fighting you for so long. And I can’t promise I won’t keep fighting you.”

“You should have some say in your becoming.” Hannibal told him, still holding him close. “I only meant to hold open the door. Not push you through it.”

Will only nodded as he buried his face in the hollow of Hannibal’s throat. He made to draw himself away. “I’m sorry.” he muttered again.

Hannibal’s grip held him fast, and he bent his head to force Will to look at him. “That’s the third time you’ve given an unqualified apology.” he said gently, a smile curling his kiss-reddened mouth. “All is forgiven. I promise. Except that which does not need forgiving, which is this in case you’re curious.” He pulled Will close again, revelling as he felt him relax into his arms. 

They stayed like that, rocking together in the dim kitchen light. Hands wandered innocently, finding all the places that had been wondered about. The curve of Will’s back. The arch of Hannibal’s collar bones. And the soft, pliant bend of each other’s lips. The silence was only broken by Will giving an abrupt cough of laughter.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked with an answering smile.

“That’s just like us isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“All you asked was if I wanted cake.”

Hannibal snorted softly in amusement as he pressed his cheek into Will’s curls. “And?”

“Yes. I want cake.” He said, leaning back and smiling up at Hannibal, still stalwartly ignoring the pain in his jaw. “I want cake, and then I want you to come upstairs with me.”

Hannibal’s expression turned very serious as he studied Will’s face with his shadowed eyes. “Will, I don’t want you to feel rushed. I-”

“I’m not feeling rushed. Or crowded. Or coerced.” Will assured him, as he reached down to take the knife that lay on the counter beside the cake. He passed it handle first to Hannibal, his mouth still bent in a wolfish little smile. “That’s why we’re having the cake first.”

***


End file.
